


Estimated Time of Departure

by JantoPhi21



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Civil Servant!Mycroft, Germany, Greece, M/M, Soldier!John, Younger John, Younger Mycroft, bottom!Mycroft, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:54:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoPhi21/pseuds/JantoPhi21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft looked at John’s hand, then at his face with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, John, I don’t think you understand. People don’t… like me. They don’t spend time with me; they at best, tolerate my company. It’s only a matter of time until the same is true of you. And it would be so much more awkward if you asked me to leave after we’d checked into a room.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Accounts for Small Talk

**Author's Note:**

> This is a 26 year old civil servant Mycroft, meeting a slightly younger John Watson.

The flight attendant came to his seat, and Mycroft could read the bad news in the expression in her eyes. 

“We need to land prematurely, Mr. Holmes. The left engine has given out, and though we can safely land, it’s still a rather urgent situation. Fortunately, there is an airport located close by; we are coming up on Frankfurt, Germany. I understand you were travelling to Greece, and the pilot apologizes for the delay.” The attendant was factual, and exuded both genuine sympathy that his trip was to be sidetracked, but comfort in that none of the blame was hers or the pilots’.   

“I see,” replied Mycroft, pulling out his phone. “Can you estimate the delay on the ground?”

“It’s hard to say, sir. The engine must be fixed, and there are reports of upcoming inclement weather in Frankfurt. Rest assured we will do our best to resume your flight in the quickest manner.” 

“Thank you, Matilda,” Mycroft commented; it was important to him that he know all of his staff by name. 

“And sir?”

“Yes?”

“There may be an option of getting you on a commercial flight should the flight crew decide the repairs may take too long. Is that an acceptable alternative for you?”

“Yes, that would suffice,” Mycroft nodded with a prim, flat smile, and turned back to his mobile. 

Well, this would most certainly put a damper in his schedule. But with a few quick texts and a well worded email, he manipulated the delay to his advantage. It was all so simple, and he found himself mildly bored of Greece already.

-o-

John Watson was sat in an airport bar. It hadn’t been his idea to take leave, but command had insisted. The fact that it was the holidays didn’t make it any better. He’d tried to tell them he didn’t have any family to go to, that it would be better off sending someone with a family home, but to no avail. Christmas music played in the background; though John didn’t know a lick of German, the tunes were familiar enough.

A couple other blokes had been on his flight, all of them younger than him. They’d already decided the delay meant they could go into the city since nobody was going anywhere until the morning anyway. John had been nursing this pint for a while. Technically the bar was supposed to be closed, but there was still a handful of stranded travelers scattered at the tables, most of them in groups and pairs.

-o-

As Mycroft disembarked the flight, he passed a gate attendant on the way out. 

“Sir, where is the best place to secure an internet connection in this airport?”

The tired man on the last legs of his shift nodded his head towards the bar, “Bar’s the best place; it’s got a router in the back. Drink purchase is required, though.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft nodded. A drink sounded lovely about now. He had work to attend to, but nothing that would be negatively influenced by a nice brandy. He headed to the bar, sachet across his shoulders, umbrella in hand. He scanned the overpriced bar, and found just one socket in which he could plug his charger. A blonde soldier sat next to it, slowly imbibing a pint, and Mycroft came up to his side. 

“Excuse me, may I use the points here to your right?” Mycroft asked politely.

“Oh? Sure.” John scooted over a seat and watched the stranger get comfortable. “They say the weather should clear up by morning,” he offered. “Heading to London? Haven’t heard anyone else English since the blokes I was traveling with took off.”

“Actually on my way to Greece. My plane lost an engine, and we had to land here for repair. I’ve business to conduct, so alas, I’m relying on my mobile for the time being.” Mycroft looked the soldier over with one thorough examination. “Have you any plans while in London on your leave?”

"Naw. Probably stop in to see my sister at some point, but I'll probably just be kicking around for two weeks." John didn’t question why the stranger knew what he was doing, after all, it was obvious he was a soldier and there weren’t a lot of other reasons for him to be travelling to London.

Mycroft tilted his head in what he was assured was empathy, “It’s a shame you haven’t a place to stay. The army really ought to consider that not everyone has relatives that are fit to stay with, and to kip on a friend’s sofa for two weeks is just an imposition. Especially over the holidays. You told them you’d rather stay in Afghanistan, didn’t you?”

John smiled. "How did you know?"

“Simple deduction,” Mycroft dismissed, “You’re clearly army, RAMC surgeon I’d wager, if your callouses are any indication. You’ve got a few leaflets for London based hostels; if you had any family worth staying with, there would be no question as to your lodgings. You couldn’t possible imagine imposing on your friends, meaning that this little leave of yours is more irritant than relief. You are a practical man; you practically scream it, from your haircut to your drink to your bag, and so you’d rather be with your men, serving your purpose, than aimlessly adrift in London. For what it’s worth, I understand.”

Mycroft plugged in his mobile and held it up, tilting it towards John for emphasis, “There’s a reason I aim to travel this time of year.” 

"You do understand. Buy you a drink? You're quite remarkable." John found himself wondering about this handsome stranger. 

Mycroft huffed and murmured to himself, “Not remarkable enough, apparently.” He coughed, and looked over to the blonde soldier next to him. “Sorry. The snow brings out my more sullen side. Perhaps a drink would be best, thank you. A brandy, perhaps?”

"My treat." John signaled the bartender before offering his hand. "John Watson."

“Mycroft Holmes,” Mycroft appreciated the solid handshake and let it linger for a half second longer than strictly necessary. “So tell me, what accounts for small talk in an airport pub between two strangers stranded for hours?”

John chuckled. "Hell if I know. What's bringing you to Greece? Business?"

“Of the dullest sort. I enjoy most of my work, but none of my interesting associates in non-Christian countries were available for politically sparring, all my interesting associates in Christian countries have familial obligations, and if I must put up with the boring sort, I’d rather not have to keep halal. So I was limited to Greece or Serbia. And here we are.” Mycroft accepted the brandy from the barkeep, and swallowed half in a warm gulp. “Now it’s your turn, what exactly do I ask of an army doctor with little regard for his family, without causing offense?”

"Try me," shrugged John. "I've probably heard it before."

“How did your parents die?” Mycroft asked. The soldier had all but dared him to do his worst, and Mycroft thought best to get the worst of his own personality out as soon as possible. 

John raised an eyebrow. "My mom died of cancer when I was small. My dad drank himself to death. My sisters an alcoholic too." Might as well get that out there. He like Mycroft's boldness though. 

Mycroft sipped at the rest of his brandy slowly, and agreed, “Yes, well, the sister was obvious enough. My brother’s a bit too friendly with cocaine himself. Perhaps it’s for the best your parents have passed. Mine just assume I’m not doing enough to help the ungrateful little whelp.” Mycroft frowned and took a look at his drink. “Well, I believe I’ve overshared. I suppose it should be all club soda from here out.”

John touched his fingers. “I don’t mind. I like your voice.”

Mycroft felt the blush up to his ears, but he didn’t pull his hand away, “Well perhaps you should choose the topic, since I seem to be veering into the inappropriate.”

“We don’t have to stay here, if you’d like to go somewhere else.” John was turning on his charm.

Mycroft laughed out loud, surprised, “Me? Are you… you can’t mean me, can you? I’m sorry, I think I misinterpreted what you said. It nearly seemed like you were, well,  _ asking me home _ , to be colloquial.” Mycroft finished his brandy, “I’m terrible with the current slang. You’ll have to fill me in.”

“Well I don’t have a home, but I bet we could wrangle a hotel room. Might be a good way to spend a night.” John was enjoying the slight flush. Glad that Three-Continents-Watson still had the touch.

Mycroft grew flustered, and while reaching for his mobile phone, knocked over the rest of his brandy. The spill was small, but started to fall off the edge towards his lap, and he jumped up, bumping into John’s elbow, and knocking down his pint in the process. He looked at the wet bar, and at John with panic in his eyes. “Oh my, um, I- I’m- I-,” Mycroft closed his eyes, took a deep breath and reopened them. “I’m terribly sorry, John. It would be best if I went on my way.” He picked up his bag, tucked his mobile inside, and turned to leave.

John grabbed his elbow. There was deceptive strength underneath that suit. “It’s fine. Really. Offer still stands.”

Mycroft looked at John’s hand, then at his face with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, John, I don’t think you understand. People don’t…  _ like  _ me. They don’t spend time with me; they at best, tolerate my company. It’s only a matter of time until the same is true of you. And it would be so much more awkward if you asked me to leave after we’d checked into a room.”

“Hey, Mycroft. No pressure. We don’t have to do  _ anything _ . But I’d like to spend the remainder of my evening with you.” John gave him a reassuring smile.

Mycroft snorted, “You say that now.” He watched the bartender wipe up his mess, and he apologised, noting to leave the man a sizable tip. He looked around the pub, noting the lack of other outlets, and sighed. “I suppose, if you are inclined to converse with me, that I may be amenable for the time being. Do not feel obligated to continue the conversation once you’re through with me. It’s something to which I am quite accustomed.” Mycroft sat back down, and plugged his mobile back in. 

He looked at the handsome doctor, thinking of how nice it would be if a man like him were genuinely interested in him, not just the release of orgasm. He decided to begin slowly, as though nothing had happened. “So, why the army, once you were trained as a surgeon? Surely you could have been far more successful in your own practice?”

“Army helped pay for school. And besides, I wanted to do some good and get as far from home as possible.” John gave the bartender a bit more money for a drink for Mycroft.

Mycroft glanced with caution at John, but accepted his drink. He took a sip, feeling the warmth drip down the back of his throat. “You could do good anywhere. More than enough trauma in London. Your parents were already dead, as an orphan your grants could easily help with the cost. There is more to it than that, yes?”

Mycroft set his drink down, “You tried to pick me up minutes into our conversation. You are either addicted to new experiences, or to danger. Perhaps both. I’m not sure if even you know.” Mycroft waited for the inevitable “piss off,” that typically accompanied his observations.

John laughed. “I haven’t spent this long in Afghanistan if I wasn’t at least a bit addicted to danger. I don’t stay back at the field hospital. Addictive personality runs in my family, obviously.”

“Well, that certainly makes more sense,” Mycroft nodded, and his shoulders slumped just a fraction before he sat up, spine straight.

“What’s the matter?” John cocked his head at him. “I’m still interested in picking you up. But only if you’re also interested in it.”

“There are clearly far more attractive, more friendly, less awkward choices than myself that would be far more suited to satisfy your lust for danger,” Mycroft responded flatly, then waved his hand across the pub, “And in this establishment alone. I appreciate that you’ve decided I looked lonely, or like a challenge, or someone you pitied, but John, I assure you, there are far better choices than me.”

John shook his head. “I’m interested in you. You’re clearly intelligent, quite clever, and gorgeous. Why wouldn’t I be interested?” He reached out to touch his hand, but, getting no response, sighed and tossed down enough money to pay for their drinks. “I’m making you uncomfortable. I apologise.” He slipped his bag over his head, thinking maybe he could nap for a few at the gate.

Mycroft watched him as he left. It was disheartening. The soldier had been interesting, at the very least, but since Mycroft knew he wasn’t fit for any sort of intimate relationship, he supposed it was best he scare the young man off. He was good at his job, but little more. He’d been reminded of that, time and time again. But still, even just one conversation, with someone who didn’t know him, who was interested in just talking to him? Should that really be out of the realm of possibility?

Mycroft looked at his drink with scorn; it was evidently bringing all sorts of sentiment to the surface. He pushed it away, and flagged down the bartender for a water. Best to conduct his business with a clear head. 

-o-

John found his gate and settled down the best he could. He could sleep almost anywhere, after all. Still, he couldn’t help the bitter feeling of disappointment. Mycroft really was interesting. He could listen to him talk for hours, he was certain. But the man had shut himself off and John wasn’t the sort to push himself where he wasn’t wanted. He wondered what he’d said that did it. Was it the addiction to danger? Mycroft had brought it up himself, John didn’t think it relevant.

And then there was the hint of strength he’d felt underneath his suit. Clearly he was the sort of man used to exuding confidence and getting his way. But John had seen a glimpse of something else. He hadn’t been willing to believe John was interested though. A fascinating contradiction.

Sighing, John crossed his arms and closed his eyes. He should just forget him. The chance was gone. But his light doze was haunted by sad blue eyes.


	2. Shall I Make Arrangements?

Mycroft spent five hours conducting his affairs in the bar, outlasting all the patrons, and even the bartender himself. His replacement was an older woman, pretty by typical standards, with two or three children at home, one of which was old enough to see the others off to school. She was able to be home when they came home from school, and that was enough to keep her working such an early shift. Mycroft had handsomely tipped the prior bartender, and he had plans to tip her plentifully as well. 

Two hours, and four glasses of water after the shift change, Mycroft found himself with a unrelenting urge. He tucked his mobile into his bag, and head out in search of the nearest restroom.

John was standing at the urinal when the door opened. Out of habit he glanced up and was surprised to see the redhead. “Mornin’” he said, looking back at his business.

“Ah,” Mycroft acknowledged, holding his bag in front of himself though he was fully clothed. He checked his watch, “You must have had quite a successful night, if you’ve made it back to the airport by this hour.”

“Never left,” he said, giving himself a quick shake. “Napped at the gate.” He tucked himself away and went to wash his hands.

“Why?” Mycroft asked, confused. The man could have had his choice of partners, “Surely you had plenty of interest, a handsome, fit bloke like you?”

“I told you, I wanted to spend time with you. You told me you weren’t interested.” John shrugged, not quite catching his eyes in the mirror.

“Sorry?” Mycroft frowned, “I thought you were looking for a quick shag, not a conversation?”

John dried his hands. “Didn’t I say it didn’t matter? That we didn’t have to do anything?” He looked at Mycroft, then away, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I apologise again if I did something wrong. I suppose your plane is ready soon and my flight is supposed to leave in the next hour. I hope you get everything accomplished in Greece that you’re hoping to.” He started to walk out, feeling that burn of regret all over again. He knew he’d been drinking but he thought he’d made things clear. Evidently not. Of course he’d love to see that tightly wound body underneath him, but that didn’t have to be everything.

“Wait!” Mycroft called out. He was on uneven ground, and it was a feeling he despised. “The only times I have ever been invited back to some one’s room were when I was speaking with sex workers. I didn’t think you to be one, but I couldn’t fathom any other reason you might need me in a private room. It’s aggravating to have missed something, for something to be unknown to me. Can you-” here Mycroft paused, “-would you be willing to explain what I did wrong?”

“You can do your business.” John gestured at the urinals and walked back over to lean against the counter. He ran his face through his day-old scruff. “I wouldn’t say you did anything wrong, Mycroft. You just shut me out. I would have been willing to sit and talk with you, there or at a hotel. I invited you back because I wanted to get to know you better. Yeah I wouldn’t have minded a shag, but it didn’t have to be that. It’s why I grabbed your elbow. I didn't want you to leave. But then you pulled away, decided that I just pitied your or something, and that’s why I left. Figured you wanted nothing to do with me after all.”

Mycroft glanced at the urinal, but refused to use it quite yet, “A room is too much. For me at least. If you did really fancy a chat, perhaps I can meet you at the café a few doors down? I did enjoy your company, I just-” Mycroft closed his eyes, embarrassed to look at John as he spoke, “I can’t do… sentiment. Intimacy. That sort of thing. But a conversation would be lovely.”

“I’ll go see if I can’t get a later flight. Not in any rush after all. I’ll meet you there.” John gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile and exited the loo.

Mycroft did what was necessary, washed his hands thoroughly, and headed to the café. He ordered himself a non-fat latte and plain toast, but John was nowhere to be seen. He hid his disappointment, and checked his mobile again. At least there were some people who were  _ required  _ to converse with him; it was stupid of him to expect anything more. 

He took a sip of his drink, a bite of his toast, and deliberated on how best to brush off the Grecian Minister of Agriculture; with his delayed schedule, the Grecian parliament leader was his first priority.

The line took a bit longer than John would have liked, but finally he plopped down across from Mycroft with coffee and a bagel. “Changed my flight to this afternoon,” he said, stifling a yawn. He hadn’t slept well at all.

Mycroft looked up, surprised to see him, “Oh! Let me cancel my appointment with Koutsoumpas. Who needs the communists anyways?” Mycroft kept a jovial tone, hoping his utter relief didn’t seep through. “You start then, John. I clearly bollocksed the whole thing up last night.”

“I’m not sure what to say.” He made a face as he sipped his drink, rather wishing it was tea instead.

Mycroft chuckled, cavalier, as though he’d heard it a million times before. “Exactly, John. How did you plan to entertain me in a private room, if you haven’t a desire to know a thing about me?” He caught the beginnings of a protest on John’s tongue, “No, no, it’s fine. We can pretend. I, well- my brother is seven years my junior and seven-fold the trouble, and my mother’s a mathematician. You?”

“You already deduced my family,” said John. “So your brother is incorrigible?”

“At the very least. My favorite color is red and I’ve only ever had a goldfish. It lived almost five whole years until my brother poisoned it’s water.” Mycroft offered up the most inconsequential of information. 

“Oh dear. I’m sorry. What was it’s name?” John asked sincerely.

“ _Carassius auratus_ ,” Mycroft offered, “Just your standard goldfish, member of the carp family.”

John smiled. “Not Bob or Fred or Liz? Just it’s scientific name? That’s certainly different, and not in a bad way.”

“When we were much younger, a dog followed my brother home. Though we tried to find his owners, we had no luck. In the end, Sherlock took to calling him Redbeard and they traipsed around the estate like little hellions. Just short of a year with us, he was afflicted by stomach torsion, and did not survive the surgery. Sherlock was devastated, but it was a good lesson for us both.” Mycroft took a sip of his drink, “We’d both known from an early age that people were not to be trusted. But even the most innocent looking of animals can rip your heart right out if you let it.”

Mycroft shrugged, “So I named the fish as it was called, and treated it as a fish. Tested its feeding habits, its reactions to night and day and so forth. And for the best it was, when Sherlock decided to test the freshwater fish’s reaction to brine.”

"That's harsh. May I deduce some things?"

“At your leisure,” Mycroft offered, taking a bite of his toast.

"You're stronger then you look. Your job requires you to interact with people, but you're not good with them outside of business. Your mind has kept you away from people. You don't have friends, you don't talk to anyone outside of work, really. If someone does talk to you you're certain it's only for some gain." John watched his face. 

Mycroft raised his eyebrows with a soft smirk, “And I’ve yet to be wrong.”

"Which is why you didn't believe me last night."

“And if we’re being honest, I’m still not sure I do. You must realise you’ve got twenty six years worth the experience working against you. But so long as the only harm done is a chat to pass the time, I suppose I can risk finding out more.” Mycroft gave an apathetic smile. “But you are a pleasant conversationalist, John. Any more deductions for me?”

John lowered his voice. "You're more dangerous and important than you appear."

Mycroft chuckled and looked away. He spoke without looking back, “You’re more perceptive than most.”

"I'm a doctor and a soldier. Keeps me and my people alive."

“I imagine you do a fine job of that,” Mycroft raked his eyes over John’s form much like he’d done the night before. He was silent for a long moment, then he asked, far too casually, “Nothing going on at home during leave, no?”

John met his eyes. "Haven't even told my sister I'm coming."

“I don’t expect much trouble on this trip. But the Greeks tend to be a boisterous people. I’d be glad for a bit of… security. It’d be a bit of travel, I’d pay you for your troubles, and it would give you something to do. If you were interested, that is.”

"I've got no problem canceling my flight. Just as long as I get back in time." He brushed his knuckles against Mycroft's arm. 

Mycroft looked down where John touched his arm, and glanced back at John, the first hint of a genuine smile crossing his face. “I guarantee it. Shall I make arrangements to get your luggage on my plane?”

"This is all I have."

“I imagine there isn’t a suit in there,” Mycroft mused, a gleam in his eye.

"Fraid not. Got a shop in mind?"

“First, let us check on my plane and see how much longer we have. We can either find a place here, or else we’ll have to wait until we land in Greece.” Mycroft stood, finishing the last of his coffee, and picking up his bag, “Shall we?”

-o-

Mycroft led John into a private hanger past a locked security door. The hanger was empty, save for a handful of others, two of whom were London politicians, and another was the German President. Mycroft walked over to meet her, his diplomacy not willing to potentially offend her by not greeting her. 

He approached her, and waited until she held out her hand before shaking it. He introduced her to John in German, taking care to be as vague as possible. She smiled politely, and held her hand out to John as well.

“Good morning, Captain Watson,” she said.

John shook. "Thank you, ma'am." She turned her attention elsewhere and John went to parade rest as if acting as Mycroft's security. 

Mycroft caught the gesture in the corner of his eye and inwardly approved at how quickly John was able to adapt. Even if their association never went beyond the professional, John was clearly a valuable asset to have. He continued walking to his gate, where his staff immediately smiled and took his bags. 

Mycroft turned their attention to John. “This is Captain John Watson, he will be accompanying me to Greece as my security. How soon will the repairs be complete?”

"Within the hour, sir. Will Captain Watson require any accommodations?" Asking about his security clearance. 

John watched the talking, back at parade rest while they talked. Seemed he'd stumbled onto someone very interesting indeed. This was much better than London. 

“I believe you’ll find the captain has everything in order,” Mycroft nodded, and gestured to John to give the woman his bag. He addressed John, “We’ll be leaving in short order apparently. Is there anything you need to do before we board?”

"Not so long as my other flight was canceled."

“Yes, I took care of that already,” Mycroft reassured him. “Come along then.”

Mycroft strode down the jetway with poise and confidence, and acknowledged the pilots as he entered the plane. He walked into the body of the plane, where eight large reclining armchairs sat around two different tables, looking slightly out of place with their regulation safety buckles. Mycroft chose his favorite spot by the window, and offered one of the other three seats to John, letting the soldier choose between the window across from himself, or on the aisle beside him. 

John sat across from Mycroft, where he could keep an eye on the door as well. 

“Care for a drink, sir?” the flight attendant asked John, after setting a hot tea in front of Mycroft; his regular brew.

"Tea, please."

“Yes, sir, coming right up,” the man nodded, and Mycroft thanked him before he went off to make John’s tea.

“We’ll be here for a bit while they finish up and adjust our flight plan with the tower,” Mycroft explained. “Is there anything specific you’d like to do to pass the time? We’ve got telly, films, radio in the arm rest. What strikes your fancy?”

“I’m not picky. Whatever you like.” John gave him another smile. ”Or you could tell me what we’re up to on this trip.”

“Ah, yes,” Mycroft nodded, “I suppose that is best. Well, how familiar are you with the Grecian economic problems of late?”

“Not too much I’m afraid. I know things are going south pretty fast.”

“Yes, well, I have a few informal drinks scheduled with various members of Parliament. At least one of which is planning on requesting a large sum from the British government. I plan on politely declining. I can’t imagine he’ll make a large fuss, but I’m certain he won’t be happy with me.”

Mycroft twiddled his tea spoon between his thumb and forefinger as he watched the milk swirl in his tea. He glanced up to check John’s reaction.

John merely nodded. “But it must be done in person. A polite decline face to face is different than a phone call.”

“Quite right,” Mycroft smiled. “Though not strictly necessary, I hope that your presence may deter any physical repercussions. And oh! Yes, the matter of payment. Would you consider five thousand pounds acceptable for two weeks of your time? You’d have at least two days to yourself, and I’d never ask for more than twelve hours of your company in a days’ time.”

John’s eyes widened. “Oh that’s too much.”

“Nonsense. I can’t have you come with me if you refused to be paid in accordance with your skills. You’re highly trained. But at least I’m assured that the amount is suitable. Would you prefer a direct bank transfer or a cheque?”

“Um, a bank account I suppose.”

“Excellent. Now that the business is out of the way-” Mycroft was cut off by an announcement over the intercom. It was crystal clear. 

“Mr. Holmes, we have been cleared for departure in forty five minutes.”

“Very good, Ms. Yensen, thank you,” Mycroft spoke in a normal tone, then turned to John, “Last chance then, to disembark before flying into the air with a strange man you’ve only just met?”

“Didn’t we establish I enjoy danger? And besides, you aren’t all that strange.”

Mycroft laughed, “I’m sure others would disagree, John. But nonetheless, I’m glad for the company. He switched topics. “Have you been able to keep up with the recent medical literature, doctor? Buried in the sand like you are?”

“To some extent. Most of what I deal with is battlefield trauma, though I also treat civilians from time to time.”

“I worked through the night. I’ve got any medical journal you may want on my tablet here, if you don’t mind if I take a small rest. I should be well rested by the time our flight leaves.” Mycroft offered a small tablet to John.

“Thank you, Mycroft.” John accepted it and started reading the first one, sipping his tea as it was brought out to him.

Mycroft tucked his head into the soft backed chair, and closed his eyes. Just a half hour or so, and he ought to be well refreshed.


	3. At Your Disposal

Soon enough they were landing in Greece. They’d talked a bit more on the way, but mostly both had been busy with their own things. As soon as they disembarked, someone was waiting with a suit for John. He changed quickly, knowing that they were going to a meeting right away and not wanting to slow Mycroft down.

Mycroft waited at the airport doors for John to catch up. He had arranged for his earlier meeting to be held soon after he landed. This wasn’t his most important meeting, not yet, but he wanted John by his side. A little gossip through the political rumor mill would help magnify the assumption that Mycroft was not one to be trifled with.

He looked up as John strode down the hallway, and involuntarily licked his lips. He’d texted the tailor John’s measurements as soon as John agreed to come, but he hadn’t expected the result to be so, well, tantalizing. John’s broad shoulders and well toned arms were obvious but subtle beneath the layers of grey wool and creamy cotton. Mycroft pondered for a moment on how delightful it might be to strip away those layers, but his phone chimed, and he looked up to see his car waiting at the kerb.

John had been surprised to find a sidearm cleverly hidden in the fine suit coat. But if he was going to play security it made sense. He fell into step just behind Mycroft, following him into the car. 

Mycroft spoke in a clipped tone, instantly all business once he entered the vehicle. “Captain Watson, we will arrive at Mr. Mitro’s office at 1600. I’m not sure how familiar you are with personal security, but you will likely not be acknowledged in any form; this is not a personal slight. If you are offered refreshments of any sort, you will refuse; to do otherwise is a sign of poor or inexpert security. If you need to eat, drink, or use the washroom, you will let me know before we arrive. You will not leave my side, and you will only intervene should I appear to be in physical danger, or require medical attention. Are you comfortable with those terms?”

"Yes, sir."

“Good. Do you need anything, or have any questions before we arrive?”

"No, sir. It's quite clear." John felt that tense excitement that always came before a mission. 

They pulled up to Mitro’s office. As usual, the man had two openly armed guards at the door; more for show than any really power. Mycroft felt a touch smug as he noticed neither guard was actually military, both were little more than hired muscle. He was pleased to watch John’s natural comfort with his military bearing, in how the man walked, how he stood at parade rest, just a step behind Mycroft, and how much more power poured from his stance and wool three piece suit than the hired guns in their false camo and obvious weaponry. 

But there would plenty of time to look later, Mycroft supposed, and shook hands with Mitro as the Greek came to welcome him. 

"Mister Holmes. So good to see you. Please, please come. Sit."

Mycroft greeted him in Greek, but he insisted on English. Mycroft approved; the man knew his place in relation to Mycroft. But it didn’t take long for the man to show his hand. Mycroft frowned as he was offered a milky white ouzo on the rocks. He accepted it; although he planned to sip it slowly knowing it’s hidden strength. He was disappointed. Mitro should have known better than to sway his opinion with something as pedestrian as alcohol.

"So have you considered my proposal?"

Mycroft sighed inwardly. Mitro wouldn’t last long with his lack of tact, social engineering, and planning. He set down his mostly full drink, leaned back, and considered Mitro with a stern look just long enough to make the man uncomfortable.When Mitro shifted in his seat, Mycroft gave a sly twitch of a smile, just enough to be seen. 

“Mitro, you and I both know that Volos has a proud and vast history going back to Demetrias. Your antiquity is rich and noble, and I’m afraid it would be an insult to you to even suggest that our own, modest port of Kingston upon Hull could stand as a suitable twinning. We’ve twained with a small American capital with limited written history, nothing near so grand as Volos, with it’s ancient Mycenaean settlements, mythological heroes- well, it would be a disservice of me to allow you to twin with our inadequate little port.”

Mycroft leaned forward slightly, and picked up his drink again, “I do hope you’ll forgive me. I see such potential in you, and I worry such a twinning might tarnish what looks to be a sparkling career.”

"Of course Mister Holmes. Your judgement is well known." 

Mycroft made a mental note. Mitro handled rejection well, with grace. He decided a compliment would serve as positive reinforcement. “Your ouzo is excellent; you must have access to a fine distillery.” 

"I do indeed. Perhaps you would like a tour?"

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, “It is nearby?”

"Just a few miles. Belongs to my Uncle."

“I must admit, of all my travels, I’ve not set foot inside an ouzo distillery. I think a tour would be fascinating, if you have time in your busy schedule.”

“For you I make time. Of course.”

“When are you available?” Mycroft asked, pulling out his mobile to check his own schedule.

“Tomorrow afternoon? Or would you like sooner?”

“I’ve a four o’clock, but sometime before then?” 

“Would lunch and a tour at noon work for you?”

“Yes, that sounds lovely.” Mycroft suspected that Mitro’s good will was born of his hope that Mycroft might change his mind, but he allowed it nonetheless. He was confident in his decision, and it would do Mitro well to know that not all favors granted him access. And he did, very much, wish to tour the distillery. He finished entering the appointment into his mobile, and set it aside. 

He picked up his glass once more, and tilted it towards Mitro. “ _ Stin iyia mas _ ,” he said, then finished the rest of his drink.

Mitro responded in kind. “Until tomorrow.” He watched the Englishman head out.

John fell into step behind him once again, hyperaware of their surroundings.

Once they began to drive off, Mycroft physically shook off his civil servant persona, and smiled to John. “That went rather well, I believe.”

“You are very good at this,” John cracked a smile at him, taking a bit more to shake off his own persona.

“Thank you. I’ve been in government since my adolescence, starting with an inconsequential summer position, and I’ve made myself indispensable ever since. Or so I should hope.” Mycroft pushed a button, and a small wet bar appeared. “Ouzo, while enjoyable, is never a taste I like to let linger for long,” he explained, pouring himself a glass of juice. “May I get you something?”

“Water is fine. I don’t drink when I’m on a job.”

“Yes, in your line of work, I suppose that’s best,” Mycroft poured water into a tall glass, adding a few cubes of ice. “It’s somewhat a necessity in mine.”

Mycroft leaned back, passing the glass to John. “I’ve got another meeting at eight this evening, but shall we do dinner in the meanwhile?”

“Fine by me.” John hesitated a moment. “Are we sharing a hotel room?”

Mycroft paused, cursing himself silently. How could he have forgotten something so crucial? “I’ll make arrangements for you; there’s no need to be concerned,” he reassured John, faking confidence.

“I don’t mind sharing,” said John, meeting his eyes.

Mycroft felt his cheeks grow warm, and wasn’t entirely sure he could blame the ouzo. But he still felt the need to clarify, “It’s not an obligation, John. I invited you on this trip because you seemed to need a distraction, and perhaps a purpose on your leave. You are not, in any way, required to tolerate my company beyond what you’ve agreed to.”

“I don’t tolerate your company. I enjoy it.” John kept his gaze.

Still not entirely convinced; he wasn’t even sure his own mother truly enjoyed his company, Mycroft recognized that further protestation could be considered rude. Instead, he suggested, “I’ll arrange for you to have your own room. How you use it, well, that’s up to your discretion.”

“Still say I don’t need it.” John reached over and touched his knee.

Mycroft looked down at John’s hand, and lightly traced over the digits with one long finger. “A surgeon’s hands,” he murmured, stroking the callouses on John’s fingers. “You shoot with this hand, too, though it’s not your dominant.”

“That’s correct. Which you knew when you had this suit made for me.”

“Indeed. It fits you quite nicely, might I add,” Mycroft allowed himself to be bold, even if he planned on blaming it on the alcohol later. 

“Not quite as nicely as your suit fits you.” He fondled the material

“If only I hadn’t needed to estimate your measurements,” Mycroft sighed wistfully, “I can only imagine what a bespoke suit could do for you.”

“You’re too kind, Mycroft. What’s next on the agenda? Simply dinner?”

“Well, dinner, then another blasted meeting which is starting to seem less and less important by the minute, then the rest of the evening is mine.”

John chuckled softly. He leaned in even closer to Mycroft’s ear. “I am at your disposal.”

Mycroft closed his eyes, the hairs on the back of his neck rising, and he took a controlled exhale. He let his thumb drift over the back of John’s hand. 

“Only if you want to. But you can read people. You know that I’m interested in you physically as well your company.”

“It appears to be so, though I cannot be sure. It’s not actually happened before; genuine interest.” Mycroft kept his eyes closed, revelling in the feel of John’s breath on his neck. 

“Do you want me to keep my hands to myself? Or shall I be more bold?” John’s hand slid every so slowly up his thigh. “I enjoyed watching you. You’re so very clever. It’s sexy.”

Mycroft could hardly focus on more than keeping a steady inhale, then exhale. He spoke, his breath only hitching once, “I believe it is said that- Yes, that fortune favours the bold.”

“May I put my lips on your skin, Mycroft Holmes? May I touch you?”

“Please.”

John’s heart thudded in his chest, but his hands were steady as he kissed Mycroft’s neck, the hand on Mycroft’s thigh just barely ghosting over the other man’s growing erection. A tease. A test.

Mycroft let out an uncontrolled sigh, almost a moan. John’s attentions felt… right. Delightful. But Mycroft had no idea what to do with his hands. He placed one on John’s knee, and tilted his head to allow John better access. Whatever John was doing was sending sparks through his body, alighting every nerve, and all Mycroft could think of was how phenomenally different these acts were when accompanied by authentic attraction, not political strategy.

"Gorgeous," muttered John against him, tongue darting out to trace the edge between skin and collar, hand again moving over Mycroft's erection.

A quiet whimper escaped Mycroft’s throat, and mortified, he slapped the hand not on John’s knee to his mouth. “I’m- I’m so sorry,” he sputtered breathlessly, “That was… uncouth.”

"It's okay. I like it. You're safe with me." John moved Mycroft's hand and tugged him into a kiss. 

Mycroft turned into John, wrapping his hand around the soldier’s waist, pulling him in tightly. He had an urge to take hold of John and never let go. He poured that thirst into the kiss, letting his other hand drift up to the nape of John’s neck, nipping and licking at John’s lips, feeling as though a dam had broken, and now needing to overwhelm himself with everything that was John.

John opened his mouth to him, squeezing his hip. "Perhaps we should take this elsewhere," he panted. 

Mycroft broke away slightly, resting his forehead against John’s. He took in a few deep breaths and cursed. “I’m afraid if we take this elsewhere, I shan’t make it to my evening appointment. Perhaps-” he cut himself off, unable to resist tasting John’s lips once more, threading his hand through the short blond hairs. His hand drifted down John’s back to the swell of his arse, and Mycroft pulled John flush against him. Then, just as quickly, he broke away with a sudden, “Oh sod it!” and pulled out his mobile.

With a few quick taps, he set the phone aside, looking back to John who sat slightly rumpled in that delectable suit with a dark look of want radiating from his steel blue eyes. “There,” Mycroft announced. “The rest of the evening is ours.”


	4. All This Way

“I’ve cancelled my meeting; I do intend to make it worth our while.”

"Good." John pressed him back and kissed him. "Hotel? Or should I shag you right here on the car?"

Mycroft groaned at the thought, and pulled John back against him as he’d done before. He was almost afraid to answer, not sure he could admit to wanting something so lascivious. 

"You're brilliant. And gorgeous," murmured John in his ear. "Let me take care of you." He wanted this man so badly. 

The heat of John’s voice in his ear felt as though it was spreading through his body, making him hot all over, skin sizzling, desperate to be cooled by John’s touch. He’d never had sex driven by passion before, and he was startled at how just small moments, like the brush of John’s lips against the shell of his ear, a single finger sliding up the length of his thigh, the whisper of breath before a kiss, were more powerful than any of his past experiences, up to and including orgasm. 

John nipped the lobe of his ear, a bit concerned that Mycroft would come right in his suit from anticipation alone. He leaned forward to tell the driver to take them to the hotel. 

Mycroft nodded when the driver looked to him for confirmation before putting the divide back between them. He let his head fall back onto the headrest and took measured, calming breaths. 

"What do you want from me right now?" asked John. 

“I’m… I don’t know,” Mycroft confessed. “You should know that all my prior liaisons have been for a strategic ploy of one sense or another. So this is a bit new for me, the wanting. I’m not sure if I’d rather have everything right here, right now, or if I’d rather spread the anticipation out. Nor am I confident that it’s entirely my decision. You have a preference, I’m sure?”

"I want you to be comfortable. And I think you'd be far more comfortable in private. We're close to the hotel, aren't we?"

“Yes, just a few minutes out. I believe I’ll need that time to-” Mycroft looked to his lap, “-make myself presentable.” He reached for glass, filling it with water, and looked back to John, “As you no longer have to work tonight, would you care for a drink?”

"Sure," John smiled at him, licking his lips. 

“I keep Irish whiskey, Cognac and both Polish and Russian vodka in the bar; which would you prefer?”

"Whiskey please."

Mycroft poured him a finger out of a snifter, and offered it to him, “We’re nearly there. I’ve got a full bar in the suite, should you want any more.”

"I don't need it. But thank you." John kept a hand on his knee, eager to get him alone. 

The vehicle came to a stop a few minutes later, and Mycroft was pleased to note that his arousal was no longer completely evident. With a small adjustment, he exited the vehicle when the valet opened the door, taking his umbrella and briefcase with him. He went into the lobby, and waited for John before pressing the button in the lift for his suite.

John stayed close by his side but as the door opened on their floor, some instinct had him pushing Mycroft to the side and pulling his gun. 

Mycroft was startled, nearly tripping over his briefcase as John shoved him into the lift wall in the opposite direction in which the door slid open. He couldn’t even see at what John was aiming at. John stepped forward, weapon trained steady in his right hand, and motioning with his left. 

"Drop it," growled John at the figure he could see reflected in the bar. 

The figure started to move, but John was faster, stepping out of the lift and knocking the weapon from the person's hand before steadily pointing his gun at them again. Amateur. 

Mycroft righted himself and looked to John to ensure it was safe.

John gave a short nod, keeping the gun steady. 

Mycroft came out of the lift, where it opened directly into the foyer of his suite. He looked at the figure scowling in John’s direction. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Sherlock! What the hell did you think you were doing? He looked at the fire iron on the floor and saw the flicker in the fireplace. He turned to John, grim, “Captain Watson, I’m most displeased to introduce to my impertinent younger brother, Sherlock. Sherlock, Captain Watson.”

John raised an eyebrow and holstered his weapon. "Master Holmes."

Sherlock was scrawny, even for him, and his eyes were dark. Gooseflesh covered his body, hence the fire, Mycroft noted. His shirt was a few sizes too big, and his hair was shaggy and past his ears. Still using, then. Mycroft affected a bored tone, “Run out of professors to blackmail?”

"Find yourself a shag?" Sherlock scratched at his arm. 

_ Damn _ , cursed Mycroft. Sherlock was still quick, even as he suffered the effects of withdrawal. Mycroft gave a caustic smile, “Captain Watson is serving as my security. Now tell me why you’ve come all this way to trouble me, before I have him throw you out.”

"If by security, you mean a good buggering." 

John moved fast, pinning his arm behind him. "Believe your brother asked a question."

Sherlock rubbed his arse against the front of John's pants. 

Mycroft’s jaw clenched and he snarled, “If you cannot behave yourself, you will  _ force my hand _ .” Mycroft had many tactics in his employ by which to control Sherlock, all of which the boy abhorred.

Sherlock stopped and pouted. "What should I do while you're busy?"

“Fine. I will book you a room. In a separate hotel. Perhaps the hostel outside town. First, answer the damn question. Why. Are. You. Here?”

"Mummy kicked me out."

“You are so very stupid, Sherlock.” Mycroft gestured to John that he could release Sherlock, “You brought your drugs into the house, didn’t you? What did I tell you?”

“I had them hidden!”

“Clearly not very well. I warned you, Sherlock. You think it makes you better, but it only makes you sloppy. You knew Mummy wouldn’t stand for it in her house.” Mycroft rolled his eyes, and slipped out of his shoes. “I’ll arrange for you to stay at a hostel, in your…  _ condition _ , they’ll be the most accommodating. Go downstairs; I’ll have my car bring you there.”

Sherlock looked between them, huffed, and slipped into the elevator.

Mycroft pulled out his mobile, sending instructions to his driver and his PA, then set the device down on the table and looked to John. “I’m terribly sorry about his behavior. He’s absolutely brilliant, and a complete nightmare.”

“Runs in the family, I see,” teased John. “I’m glad you didn’t think I overreacted.”

Mycroft crooked a brow, but gave a smirk. “I’m not sure there is anything I would consider an overreaction when it comes to Sherlock.”

“He’s just lucky I don’t pull the trigger unless I’m certain.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time he’s been shot,” Mycroft grumbled. “After all that, I certainly need a drink. Can I get you anything?” Mycroft shed his suit jacket as he walked toward the wet bar and rinsed off his hands.

“Something small, I suppose.”

“I’ve got about everything here, what do you want?” Mycroft poured himself a drink, and took a sip.

“Whiskey, I suppose. I don’t drink that much though.”

“It’s up to you. I’ve got tea as well.”

“Tea would be better, actually.” John took off his own suit coat, making sure the gun was in easy reach.

“Of course,” Mycroft answered, filling a small kettle with water and setting it to heat. He sat at the bar and sipped awkwardly at his drink, not exactly sure how Sherlock’s intrusion might have altered their evening plans.

“Hey, I’m still interested,” said John, touching his knee. “I’m sure we can find the mood again.” He could see Mycroft was nervous all over again.

“It’s okay, if you’d rather not,” Mycroft offered, “I still have a room for you booked downstairs.”

“Quit trying to get rid of me,” smiled John.

Mycroft blanched, and fumbled trying to set his drink down, “No! That’s not it at all! I just-” Mycroft took a deep breath, “Sherlock is the equivalent to dousing yourself in ice water. I didn’t want you to feel obligated if you were no longer… _ in the mood _ , to use the colloquial phrasing.”

John leaned in closer. “You liked the way i handled my gun.”

Mycroft gulped, and confessed, “Very much so.”

“So, then, no problem. I am good with my hands, you know.”

The kettle whistled, and Mycroft jumped up. “Let me get you your tea.”

John chuckled. “I’m not pressuring you, am I? I told you, I want you to be comfortable. But my goodness you’re enchanting.”

“No, it’s quite alright. You are-” Mycroft paused to pour the hot water into a cup, and dip a prepared ball of loose tea into the cup, “You are perfectly lovely.” 

“Thank you.” John touched his cheek and leaned in to kiss him gently.

Mycroft dropped the tea’s chain, and instead wrapped his hand around John’s waist and under his waistcoat. He chased the gentle kiss with a far more passionate one of his own. If John were still interested, Mycroft wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass. 

John moaned softly. He steered them towards the bed, slipping buttons free of Mycroft’s waistcoat.

Mycroft felt his knees hit the bed’s edge, and let himself fall. He trusted John to take care of him, to treasure him and lead him to pleasure. He looked up to John, who stood above him, and asked one last time, very softly, “Please.”

“God, Mycroft,” John straddled his waist and kissed him again as he opened his clothes. He wanted to touch Mycroft’s skin, to see the pale flesh beneath the perfect suit.

Mycroft didn’t quite know what do with his hands, so he let John take the lead. With each button John undid, Mycroft panted, ready, willing and wanting to be taken. He felt he needed to show John the depth of his willingness, and so wrapped his hands around John’s hips, keeping him steady as John undressed him. 

“Oh, look at you,” whispered John reverently as he parted Mycroft’s shirt and pushed up his vest, running his fingers through the soft red hair of his chest and over the creamy planes of hidden muscles. “Come on, let’s get you out of those clothes.” He tugged Mycroft up to get his shirt off, then his vest, then slid to his feet and reached for Mycroft’s belt.

Mycroft reached for any centimeter of skin he could touch, letting his fingers dance up John’s chest, circling his nipples through his shirt just as John tried to pull off his vest. As he was disrobed, he pulled John down, attempting to free him of his own suit. He managed to undo John’s buckle, and untuck his dress shirt before John descended on him.

“I’m going to fuck you, Mycroft,” promised John as he kissed him, moving them farther up the bed and letting Mycroft free him of his clothes. He parted Mycroft’s thighs and ducked his head, nipping at the soft skin before running his tongue along his rim.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Mycroft exclaimed. He’d never been treated to such deliberations before. He gripped the bed sheets hard, desperately trying to prevent himself from thrusting onto John’s heavenly tongue. 

John smiled against him, holding his thighs open as he continued to work his rim for a moment before pressing his tongue into him.

Mycroft whimpered, this time letting his indignant noises escape him without apology. 

John fucked him for a few minutes with just his tongue, feeling Mycroft fall apart underneath him. Finally he pulled away. “Give me a minute,” he said, kissing Mycroft’s thigh, “See if we’ve got lube.” He went to the bathroom to rinse out his mouth.

Mycroft laid boneless on the bed, thoroughly debauched. When John left, he tossed all of their excess trappings onto the floor, and settled himself into the middle of the bed. He aimlessly fondled his cock, not looking to come, but keeping himself aroused and at the ready.

John was somehow unsurprised to find lube and condoms in the bathroom. He stepped back out to face his lover, comfortable in his own nakedness and quite enjoying the view. “Gorgeous,” he said again, moving to climb over him.

Mycroft preened under the praise, never before having heard the those words applied to him. He briefly hoped John wasn’t offended that the toilets were fully stocked, but quickly dismissed that possibility as John crawled over his legs to greet him with a minty kiss. 

"Shall I use a condom?" John asked. 

“If it makes you comfortable,” Mycroft offered breathlessly. He neglected to mention he’d already checked the public databases for John’s name and it had come up empty.

"Are you clean?" He pressed a finger inside, watching his eyes. 

Mycroft arched his back with a gasp. “Oh, God, yes!”

John nibbled his throat, fingering him steadily. He rutted slowly against Mycroft, eager to get inside of him, but needing to make sure he was ready. 

As John teased him, with one finger, then two, Mycroft threaded fingers through his hair, and let his other hand cling to muscular planes of of John’s back. John’s touch, deep inside him, was electrifying, and he couldn’t stop the breathy moans that escaped him.

The noises Mycroft was making drove John on. He scissored his fingers before pulling them out, slicking himself, and lining up to take him. 

Mycroft looked at John, kneeling between his open thighs. He was deliciously tanned, and Mycroft was entranced watching how each of his muscles flexed as he took himself in hand. John glanced up at him, and Mycroft caught his eye. John’s stormy eyes exposed his raw lust, and Mycroft licked his lips and nodded.

John braced himself over him and pressed forward into that tight heat, watching his face. 

Mycroft’s eyes grew wide as John filled him, opening him wide, and he nearly forgot to breathe. When the thought occurred to him, he drew in a deep breath, hands tightly knotting into the sheets as he waited for John to move.

"Gorgeous," repeated John, starting to move, slowly, giving him time to adjust. 

As John loomed above him, Mycroft wrapped his arms around his body, urging him on. He could feel the slick slide of John’s cock gliding in deep, then pulling nearly all the way out in a slow rhythm that was perfectly tantalizing.

"You're so tight," growled John. "You feel so good around me."

Mycroft let out a low groan at the praise, and move one hand down to the top of John’s arse. He tried to quicken their pace, trying to etch out the words he needed. “Please,” he exhaled in a throaty whisper, “More, please.”

John moved hips a couple more times, then pulled back before pushing in almost all the way. He felt Mycroft tense and then relax underneath and he started moving with a faster pace, reaching down to stroke his cock. “Beautiful.”

The pants and huffs escaping Mycroft matched John’s rhythm and grew louder with each thrust. Ecstasy pooled low in his abdomen, glowing white hot like the sun, every inch of his body taking in the pleasure of John’s touch, of the cool soft sheets, of the sweat beading up and making the slide of John’s hard firm body against even more slick. 

When John reached for his cock, Mycroft cried out with bliss, and hitched his knees over John’s hips to deepen the angle. “Hell,” he moaned, “You’re- I’m- oh.” He tried to get out a proper sentence, but couldn’t manage.

John grinned at him, loving the way the man was falling apart beneath him. He knew Mycroft couldn’t last long like this, and gave a twist of his wrist.

“Just- just-” Mycroft stuttered, desperately trying to hold on, to last just a bit longer, not wanting to disappoint. But as he shifted, John sparked an explosion of rapture inside of him, and Mycroft crumbled, falling prey to his desires. He held tightly on John, as though he were drowning, and rode out his release.

It was a beautiful sight, to see this tightly wound man fall apart beneath him. John kissed him hungrily, moving harder, faster, chasing his own release, wanting to fill him up.

Mycroft felt boneless as his orgasm ebbed, making him pliant under John’s ministrations. As John pistoned harder into him, Mycroft tried to help, pulling up his knees, and encouraging John further, “Please, yes- that was- oh, god John, more,  _ please _ .”

There was no way John could hold out with Mycroft begging like that. He came with another loud groan, holding Mycroft tightly as his mind nearly whited out with pleasure.

John’s cock throbbed inside him, and Mycroft groaned with how simply perfect it felt, under John, touching John, filled with John. He didn’t dare move positions until John began to come down.

“So fantastic,” murmured John, peppering him with kisses.

“Yes, well,” Mycroft was at a loss to describe exactly how phenomenal it had been, so settled for, “I think, perhaps, your tea has over-steeped.”

“Perhaps it’s blasphemy, but sod the tea.”

Mycroft chuckled. He kept his hands on John’s body, wanting the man to stay close by, feeling deeply relaxed but oddly vulnerable. He wasn’t sure if this were to be one pleasurable night of enjoyment, or if he might expect more, but either way, he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

John relaxed in his arms. “You can sleep.”

“Will you be staying?”

“Of course. I promised you, didn’t I?”

“You assured me you found me physically attractive and personally interesting. You kept good on your assertion that you would, indeed, fuck me. But I don’t believe any discussion were had to the effect of what you should wish to do with yourself after the fact. I would understand if you preferred to have the rest of the evening to yourself.” Mycroft spoke a bit too casually than he would have liked, and it worried him that John might read him too well, and stay out of pity. While he very much wanted John to stay, he didn’t want John to feel obligated.

“I want to stay,” John assured him, kissing him again. “Maybe we can stay here a bit longer, then get dinner?”

Mycroft relaxed a bit further, letting John wrap his arms around him, feeling, for the moment, safe and cared for. “That sounds lovely, John. Would you like to go out or shall I order in?”

“What do you feel like?”

“It’ll be the same restaurant either way, something I think you’ll like. The only difference is how dressed we have to be.”

“Then let’s order in.”

Mycroft hated to say it, “I’ll need to fetch phone, unfortunately. I left it on the bar.” He looked down at their mess, “Perhaps I’ll order dinner, and we can shower?”

“I’ll get you the mobile, then I'll go run the water.”

Though averse to letting John go, it did seem to be a good option. John brought him the phone, and when John went into the bathroom, he dialed and ordered. He hoped John would enjoy the food; it seemed appropriate at any rate. 

Knowing it would take an hour or so, he laid for a moment or two longer, inhaling the subtle scent John had left behind.


	5. What More Can I Say?

John was a bit floored by the bathroom. He hadn’t really looked around when he’d gone in the first time. He decided on the tub instead of the shower, letting the water run warm and adding some of the scent that was there.

Mycroft could smell the fragrance wafting out of the bathroom, and smiled. John must have chosen the whirlpool bath over the rain shower. The bathroom was one of the reasons Mycroft stayed here every time he came into Greece. A good soak always helped declutter his mind, and the shower in the morning made him sharp and alert. He rolled off the bed, wincing at first, and feeling the filthy mixture of lubricant and John’s ejaculate run down the inside of his thigh. He walked a bit faster, thinking he may need to shower before getting into the bath.

John smiled warmly at him. “I think it’s ready.”

“Just a moment,” Mycroft said, and turned on the shower, letting water rain from the ceiling. He rinsed himself off, and then sat on the edge of the bath, looking at John while running his fingers through the warm water. “Sandalwood and cardamom? Excellent choices.” 

“This has all been amazing, Mycroft.”

Mycroft smiled, looking down into the water, “You really have been, John. It’s been my pleasure.”

John chuckled and climbed in. “Beats the hell out of kicking around London.”

Mycroft slid gracefully into the water after him, and though feeling hesitant, allowed himself to slide in between John’s legs, back to his chest, so that he could be cradled in John’s arms.

John hummed softly and cradled the taller man, kissing his freckled shoulder.

Mycroft let one arm drape over John’s on his chest, and spoke, “I must confess, receiving was far more pleasurable than I had been led to believe.”

“Never done it that way before?” John was surprised.

“Until now, it had been politically advantageous to be the more…  _ giving  _ participant,” Mycroft explained, and shrugged. “And of course, in some cases, it wasn’t really a possibility.”

“I’m sorry. But I’m glad you’ve enjoyed yourself.”

“Tremendously. You are a man of many skills, it seems,” Mycroft jested.

John nibbled at his earlobe. “So are you.”

Mycroft shuddered delightfully, “Dinner should be here in about forty minutes. Do you think we’ll be able to clean in such a short amount of time?”

“I think so.” John dipped his hand between Mycroft’s legs and kissed the back of his neck, just glad to be here.

-o-

When the lift chimed exactly forty two minutes later, Mycroft was in nothing but a silk dressing gown, and John sat naked, sipping a freshly brewed tea at the bar. Mycroft waited for the door to slide open, and took the two thick paper bags from his hands, nodding his thanks at the young woman who delivered the food. She stared at the ground after catching the sight of John’s backside, and Mycroft could see the flush up her neck and to the tips of her ears. 

He tipped her handsomely.

When the lift door had closed once again, he turned to John, setting the bags on the bar. “It only seemed appropriate, John, that on the first proper evening of your leave, you have proper food. Henry’s serves the only authentic English food in all of Athens. I’ve ordered,” and Mycroft began to pull out take away containers, looking in each while announcing its contents, “Shepherd's pie, fish & chips, bangers and mash, and a variety of puddings.”

Mycroft looked up to measure John’s reaction, “I do hope I’ve selected something you’d like.”

“Plenty. Thank you.” John selected the bangers and mash and got to work.

Mycroft nodded, pulling the shepherd’s pie to his seat, and reaching out for his cup of tea. It had cooled some, but was still delicious. They ate in silence for a few moments, and when Mycroft had eaten a fourth of his entree, set it aside for later. He sipped at his tea, and watched John in the mirror of the bar.

“Not hungry? asked John.

“Just a slow metabolism, that’s all,” Mycroft dismissed, “But are you enjoying it? Or should I have ordered something authentically Greek instead?”

“Perhaps tomorrow night.” John smiled at him.

Mycroft’s face fell. “Oh, yes. Of course. I’m terribly sorry. It was presumptuous of me to order for you. Let me get my mobile. We can call out for something you’d prefer.” Mycroft slipped off the bar stool, and hurried into the bedroom where he’d left the mobile. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, silently berating himself. How was it he could predict every move of any government, manipulate politicians, civil servants, even Sherlock to some extent, but John left him confused, befuddled and feeling quite stupid? He browsed through the notes on his mobile, to see if the restaurant he’d enjoyed on his last visit was still open.

“Hey.” John got up and followed him. “I didn’t mean I wasn’t enjoying it. I am. I only meant perhaps tomorrow we could get Greek. There’s nothing wrong, Mycroft.”

Mycroft put his face into his hands, rubbing the tension from his temples, “John, when I said I can’t do sentiment, or intimacy, this is what I meant. I can’t read you, I don’t understand your intentions because not a damn thing about them adds up!”

He realised he’d raised his voice, and sighed, “I’m sorry. I’m far more trouble than I’m worth.”

“No you aren’t.” John moved to him and rubbed his shoulder. “How about you just ask me, though? Instead of jumping to the worst conclusion, maybe ask me what I meant?”

“That’s exactly the problem. I don’t ever have to ask for clarification with anyone else. I can read the smallest movements, the twitches of an eye, the way someone fiddles their fingers, and I know. I know what they mean; and I assure you, if I’m involved the body language is always overwhelmingly negative. Honestly, I feel all of about twelve years old around you. And it’s…  _ infuriating _ !” Mycroft emphasised the last word with a drastic gesture, knocking loose John’s soothing hand.

John swallowed and stepped back “Would… would you rather I go?” He didn’t want to. He wanted to stay here, wanted to sleep with Mycroft by his side. See his smile, hear his laugh. Maybe feel his body wrapped around him again. But if he was only causing problems, perhaps that would be best.

Mycroft sagged his shoulders, and set his mobile back down onto the nightstand. “I like to think that my brother and I are two very different people, that I have succeeded where he has not. And it’s moments like these that I see we are very much the same. Only ever capable of pushing away people who may genuinely enjoy our company. He has contacts, I have colleagues, and we both pretend it is enough.” Mycroft pinched the top of his nose. 

“I don’t want to leave, Mycroft. I enjoy your company, when you aren’t jumping to conclusions.”

“And yet it is a transgression I will continue to make, I fear.” Mycroft looked down, feeling chastised and angry at himself for his ignorance. “I would be pleased if you would stay, but I also understand why you wouldn’t.”

“I just need you to talk to me, that’s all.” John was feeling frustrated himself.

“What more can I say?” Mycroft asked. “Ask me. Ask me anything, and I will tell you.”

“It’s not that. It’s you that needs to ask me if you don’t understand. Like that first night. You assumed I only wanted to get in your pants and nothing else. You assumed that when I left it was to get into someone else’s pants. You assumed just now that I wasn’t happy with dinner. I feel like every time I start to relax and enjoy myself with you, something else sets you off.” John was pacing by now. 

“I don’t understand anything about this!” Mycroft exclaimed, standing up. “My first kiss was at seventeen. I was in uni, running for a student political position that would make me an honorary member of the parish council, and to boost my sway, I made an arrangement with a pretty girl to kiss her at public event. I don’t even like women! I am unbelievably out of my depth and I adore you and I have absolutely no idea what to do with that!” Mycroft was now pacing on the other side of the bed from John.

John stopped and shook his head at him. “Will you please at least believe me that I’m not here for any sort of gain?”

“I have to, because I imagine it should be clear by now I have nothing to actually offer,” Mycroft ran his hand through his hair.

“Nothing to offer? You’re brilliant. You’re gorgeous. You’re wonderful to talk to. I’m a damned lucky man to have even five minutes of your time. I just wish you’d understand that.” John turned and walked to the bar, pouring himself a drink.

Mycroft followed him out of the bedroom, but slumped onto the sofa while John made his drink. He started to think, to replay his interactions with John in his head. His hands worked in front of him as he played each scene, pausing, fast forwarding, and capturing the little looks on John’s face he hadn’t been able to decipher before. 

He realised in short order that John must, at the very least, believe everything he’d said to Mycroft thus far. His face was too honest, his eyes too soft to be filled with pity. In fact, everything that made no sense to Mycroft was actually a sign that John wasn’t the same as all the rest. He was too familiar with how revolt, manipulation, and calculation looked on a person, and knew that John couldn’t be feeling any of those things. 

So what was left, then?

John’s words. He’d never heard them before from anyone who’d meant them, and so it must be that all of the impossible things to catalogue about John were reflections of all the things he claimed to enjoy. 

John took his drink and sat down in the other chair, getting the fire going while Mycroft lost himself in his thoughts. Was it worth it to stay here? He’d jumped at the chance to come along, to leave behind dreary December London for an adventure with a mysterious stranger. He scrubbed his face, realizing he was in need of a shave. How much could he put up with? How much  _ should  _ he try?

Mycroft looked up to the bar and his heart dropped as he didn’t see John, but swiftly recovered once he realised John was sitting just across from him. 

“You mean it,” Mycroft said definitively. “All of it.”

“Yes.” John met his eyes, wondering at the look he saw there.

“That’s  _ why  _ it didn’t make any sense,” Mycroft explained, grinning. “I mean, I promise I won’t continue to make mistakes, but I think-”

Mycroft suddenly realised exactly what it meant for John’s words to be true, and leapt up. He swooped down onto John, with a sort of frantic grace, pulling John’s drink out of his hand as he straddled his lap, and before John could utter a word in protest, Mycroft kissed him, with all the gratitude and understanding he could muster.

John moaned against his lips, wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s waist. This was worth it. This was worth everything.

Knowing what he did now, Mycroft allowed a wanton groan to escape his throat. John seemed to like it when he made noise. 

And now that he finally understood, Mycroft allowed himself to be just a bit vulnerable. 

He expected the night would get much, much better. 

**Author's Note:**

> John: [Janto321](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Janto321%22) (on AO3), [Merindab](http://merindab.tumblr.com) (on Tumblr)  
> Mycroft: PhiPiOhSum475 on [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475), and on [Tumblr](http://phipiohsum475.tumblr.com).


End file.
